


upper echelon for no reason

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, M/M, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8347909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: The stranger looks down at him, tall enough to need to do that, but he’s got on a black Nike cap and Ray-Bans that are more glistening than Jensen’s suddenly cut-short future.
Jensen finally gets his interview with Padalecki, after Chad makes him jump through a series of disgusting hoops to score it. Padalecki is not what he imagined.





	

Jensen decides to slather on two separate layers of protective deodorant.

The first layer he does before he gets dressed and the next, (and hopefully last) is utilized when he’s still sitting in the cab of the truck he stole from Fuckcan.

Chad. That he borrowed from  _ Chad.  _ He’s working on keeping his proper nouns straight, now that Chad’s doing him this solid, even if Jensen had to do some unmentionable things to score this interview.

Chris’ truck is in the shop, and unless one or the both of them comes into a small inheritance, it’s not leaving anytime soon. 

Their diet is already comprised of black beans and air, except when Chad comes along, full to the brim with vegetables and pork, and a seemingly bottomless well of cash.

Jensen thinks to ask him what he does for a living sometimes, but he’s afraid he’ll be left mentally deranged by the answer.

He’s scrubbed every inch of this car, cab to bed, and it’s black so everything he’d missed would’ve shown right up.

He’s got his hands around his thighs and he’s fair to squeezing the life out of himself when the passenger door flies open on an abrupt swing.

Jensen squeaks, no more manly word for it, and he presses both fists into his mouth to keep from hyperventilating and passing out before this stranger kills him.

The stranger looks down at him, tall enough to need to do that, but he’s got on a black Nike cap and Ray-Bans that are more glistening than Jensen’s suddenly cut-short future.

Big Hands, Jensen upgrades the Stranger, closes the door behind him with a click of familiarity and arranges long legs in the seat with a grunt of discomfort.

“You’re not Chad,” he says quietly, pulls shades down to squint into Jensen’s face. Jensen’s yet to remove his hands from his mouth so he does so now, wets his lips three times and then bites down firmly when Big Hands’ eyes narrow.

“He just told you I’d meet you in the parking lot, din’t he?”

Jensen nods, stuck on a loop-repeat that Big Hands is most definitely Jared Padalecki and Jared Padalecki takes up all of the air and space in an area just by existing within it.

“I’m not--he didn’t tell you you couldn’t talk, did he?” Jared seems legitimately frightened by this last, and it’s this, more than anything else that shocks Jensen out of his stupor.

He laughs some, can’t help it, and Jared’s mouth curls into a smirk that Jensen realizes is going to be  _ dangerous. _

“I can talk,” Jensen says stupidly, and then he’s leaning forward, chest braced against the wheel.

“Fuckcan let me borrow his truck because I can’t even kind of afford my own car right now and you got no idea the shit I had to do to convince him to let me talk to you--” Jensen says, cuts himself off right at the quick because Jared’s starting to look a little wild-eyed.

“I work for the Tribune,” Jensen adds, just in case he doesn’t already know. “I know you’ve probably answered every single question about your PPG and your--your assist to turnover ratio and all that,” Jensen says, and now he’s desperate.

“I just want like, four minutes of your time,” Jensen breathes, and Jared laughs, high and bright like Jensen saw on TV that one time.

“You got it,” Jared says, “probably used it all up with that speech right there,” he says, and Jensen colors instantly, flexes his palms around leather.

“Jesus, I’m fucking this all the way up,” Jensen says, and Jared’s palm comes down on his shoulder, warm and heavy.

“This is fine,” he says slowly, and then he releases and Jensen shivers at the loss of warmth. “You mind if I drive?” He asks, scratches the top of his hat like it’s gonna somehow be able to get to his hair.

“S-sure,” Jensen acquiesces, scrambles out of the driver’s side and bumps straight into Padalecki as they meet in the middle, behind the bed.

He’s even more broad in person and Jensen realizes his earlier assessment about Jared being lanky isn’t quite on the money. He’s trim, as most basketball players tend to be, but there’s nothing thin about him.

He’s lean and he’s wearing Nike Pro gear that’s  _ suctioned  _ to his arms and Jensen has a big ol’ gay moment where he’s just imagining himself leaning in and licking.

That’s gonna get his ass handed to him, and one thing Jensen knows for certain, without even needing to ask, is that Padalecki could fuck him up with one hand tied behind his back.

Jared’s unmoving, even though Jensen definitely bounced off a pec back there, and he’s staring down at Jensen’s face like he’s trying to work out a puzzle-by-numbers.

“S-sorry,” Jensen stutters like he hasn’t done since the fifth grade. “I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he adds, when Padalecki is still  _ looking  _ at him.

“That mother _ fucker _ ,” Jared says, and Jensen’s brows raise slightly. “Who? Fuckcan? Chad, I mean? Chad, your best friend, Chad?” Jensen wrings his hands out and considers murdering himself.

“I can. We don’t have to do this,” he prompts, whispers it quietly because he doesn’t really want Jared to agree.

This could make or break him. This could be the thing that allows him to actually afford to travel back home and see his mom.

He could get to sit courtside and see the greats.

He could afford a full bathroom and maybe something other than a tin of nuts once a week. He’s fairly shaking with the possibilities; he just needs this one  _ thing,  _ and he almost misses Jared curling those hands around his biceps.

“I’m gonna give you your story,” Jared says strangely, and Jensen’s eyes widen, mouth slack. “Oh Jesus,” Jensen almost wails, and he’s fluttering in Jared’s grip.

“Do I need--do you want me to write or can I record--” Jensen’s tirade peters to an abrupt halt when Jared closes every last inch of space between them and kisses him, moves palms to cover Jensen’s entire face.

Jensen makes a scared noise and then it turns hungry and his body sags forward in want.

He braces himself up against Jared’s broad chest and Jared rumbles, definitive sound coming from the center of his chest.

Jared releases, steps back but keeps them connected by hands to face. 

“There’s your story,” Jared says, and Jensen blinks his eyes blearily. “I don’t--I don’t understand,” Jensen says stupidly, and Jared smiles, softer than before.

“You’re stunning,” Jared says, point-blank with a decided lack of sentimentality. “It’s gonna get out, at some point, and I’m not into playing games.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Jensen says, “that you’re--you’re gay, or, at the least, bi, and you want  _ me  _ to write about it? In the Tribune?”

Jared smiles, pulls back completely. “I want you to write about it. I dunno how this works, but I want you to have exclusivity.”

This is not what Jensen was after when he begged for this meeting. He wanted a good five minutes of Jared’s time and maybe his handwriting down on actual stationary.

His dick is still at half-mast from where Jared dragged him close, bodies touching at every possible corner, and now Jared raises his right hand to press his thumb to the raw corner of Jensen’s bottom lip.

“I’ll give you everything you need to make it good,” Jared continues, and Jensen nods, catches the wet swell of flesh against Jared’s thumb and his eyes darken-nasty.

“What. What do you want from me?” Jensen asks, stutters his way through the question. Jared looks momentarily taken aback, and then he’s grinning, face lit up with that smile that’s charming America.

“After it’s all done, I want you to go on a date with me.”

Jensen snorts, backs away. “Oh no. Nah, man. You don’t want me. You’re gonna have. You’re gonna have like, tens of thousands of people--men, dude.” Jensen flounders for words and now Jared’s face has shuttered closed.

“You can still write the article, Jensen. I wasn’t gonna take it back if you didn’t want to go.” Jensen shakes his head so violently he feels like he must’ve rattled something loose.

“Ah, no, Jesus, I’ll go o-out with you. I mean. I would like that. To do that, with you.” Jensen snaps his mouth closed and shuts his eyes, wills the onslaught of words off.

“Don’t stop talkin,’” Jared drawls, “I like it when you stutter.” Jensen’s air gets caught in his chest and he peeks out at Jared to check see if he’s really losing his mind.

“But what I really want,” Jared says, after a moment of careful silence on Jensen’s part, “is to get both hands,” he flexes the aforementioned hands, like Jensen’s under any misconception, “on your ass.”

He strides a little closer, eradicates any space between them.

“Wanna hold your cheeks open so I can get at your hole,” he whispers, and Jensen makes a punched-out groan he’s immediately ashamed of.

“You got any idea how wet I wanna make you? Cover you in  _ me _ ?” Jared falls back, chest heaving like he knows he’s done too much.

“C’mon,” he smiles, feral-teeth in the face of Jensen’s aroused confusion. “I’ll play nice. Get in the truck and I won’t even touch you until this thing is hot off the press.”

Jared climbs back inside, doesn’t wait for a response, and Jensen doesn’t know where to go from here but up.

-

Jensen gets the scoop.

The night before it’s to be published, and subsequently takes the entire NBA by storm, is right about the time he gets a call from his one and only ex.

When he looks back, years later, he marks this as the Advent of The Thing.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking, I've got a number of snippets and things I want to do for this 'verse, but if y'all can think of anything you'd like to see my two cherubs do (sexy or otherwise) drop a comment! porn-gloves at the ready.


End file.
